Scrappy: Origins
by Agent Ninety-Nine
Summary: How Scooby Doo's nephew joined the crew.


"Gah!" 

The handsome tan Great Dane squeezed his eyes shut and clasped his head in his large paws, grinding his teeth. Alarmed by the noise, a Chihuahua, looking impossibly tiny beside the big dog, ran to his side. 

"Whatever's the matter, Frankie?" 

"It's that _boy_! He gets on my nerves so badly!" 

The Chihuahua looked hurt. "Frank, Scrappy's our son!" 

"I know, Florence," the Great Dane said sadly. "But sometimes I just want to break his neck." 

It was hard to imagine an odder couple than these two dogs, the giant and the dwarf. But a couple they were. They had fallen in love and against all the odds produced a puppy, the proof of that love. A miracle baby. He should have completed their happiness, but in fact he was the source of constant strife between his parents. 

Florence looked out into the yard, where the pup was chasing the falling leaves. Even she could not call her boy handsome. The massive, jowled head of his father sat grotesquely on his mother's slight frame, making him look out of proportion. He liked to toddle about on his hind legs, which Florence found cute but was another cause of irritation to his father: "It's not _natural_!". 

"Whee! Ha ha! Yippee!" Scrappy was seldom quiet or still for a moment, full of puppy exuberance and bounce. His character too came from both parents; the playful energy of the larger breed and the persistent yapping of the smaller. All in all it made for a bundle of noise and destruction. 

His father put his paws to his ears. Over the last few weeks he had developed a tic in his furrowed brow, which twitched whenever his son was in earshot. Florence watched him worriedly. Great Danes tend to be gentle creatures but they often do not know their own strength, and she feared that he might accidentally do Scrappy some serious harm. And the extent of his irritability was clearly bad for him, as well as making him difficult to live with. She looked from her husband to her child and back again, and as she did so Frankie voiced what she was thinking: 

"Either he goes or I do." 

"Hi, sweetie. What's up?" Florence waved a Scooby Snack and her son came bounding over.   
"Hi Mom! I was playing at ghost-catching."   
"That sounds scary, dear."   
"Nah, I don't get scared. I'm fearless and brave, like my Uncle Scooby!" 

Scrappy's eyes lit up as he spoke the name. Scooby Doo, Frankie's brother, was a detective, and although Scrappy had never met his famous uncle he idolised him. Florence looked at his eager face, and an idea came to her. 

"A retter? For me?" Scooby jumped up and grabbed the envelope from Shaggy, his paws fumbling to open it.   
"Like who's it from, Scoob?"   
"Rit's rom Rankie!"   
"Frankie? Your brother?" Daphne crouched beside the Great Dane, who nodded importantly. 

"Rit says: meet the relve-rifteen rain and collect a rar...a parrel..." Scooby's command of spoken English was excellent, for a dog, but he got stuck sometimes. Velma took the letter from him. 

"Want me to read it out for you? OK. 'Dear bro, Please meet the twelve-fifteen train on July 24th' - hey, that's today! - 'and collect a parcel. I am sending you something to help the gang with their mystery-solving. Hope you enjoy it. Love, Frankie.' Well, I wonder what he's going to send you?" 

"Food?" suggested Scooby, licking his chops.   
"Don't be silly, Scooby. Food doesn't help with mysteries," Fred pointed out.   
"It sure does! I can't think on an empty stomach!" That was Shaggy, of course. 

Velma looked at her watch. "Guys, if Scooby's going to meet the train he'd better get moving."   
"Reah! Roving!" His hind legs paddled the air and he was gone, leaving a Scooby-shaped cloud of dust behind him. 

"You be good for your Uncle Scooby, now." Florence settled the puppy comfortably in his travelling box. She had cut two eyeholes so he could see out, and put in some snacks for the journey. Although Scrappy was looking forward to his adventure, there were tears in his mother's eyes. 

"Mom?" Scrappy put his paws on the side of the box and peeked out. "Does Dad hate me?"   
"Darling, why would you say that?" Florence said quickly - too quickly.   
"He never speaks to me. He hardly even looks at me. And now you're sending me away." Scrappy was a brave little pup, but a pup nonetheless. His eyes grew moist and he sniffled. Florence reached into the box and hugged him. 

"Oh, Scrappy...you do get on his nerves sometimes, it's true. But you're our only son and we love you. We just want a little time on our own. Now you have a wonderful time with your uncle, and you'll soon be home. You do want to meet Scooby, don't you? I know you'll get along great." 

"Really?" The usual eager look came back into the puppy's eyes.   
"Yes, really. I bet you'll be a real help." She kissed Scrappy's forehead. "Have fun, sweetie. I'll miss you." 

Then Florence closed the box. 

Scooby shivered. He hadn't realised that his brother meant the midnight-fifteen train, not the noon-fifteen. It was dark, and a thunderstorm was beginning. There was no one else on the platform. He wished the rest of the gang were here. This was...spooky. 

Lightning slashed the sky, followed closely by a growl of thunder. The Great Dane cowered back under a bench, whimpering softly to himself. At last a bright white light appeared in the distance, growing steadily larger. The train was coming in! 

The express didn't stop at this small country station. The baggage handler simply tossed Scooby's parcel onto the platform as the train rushed through in a cloud of steam. Scooby trotted excitedly over to the box, his keen nose sniffing for any hint that there might be food inside. But as he approached, the parcel put out little legs and started to jump towards him. 

This was too much for the big dog. With a panicky yelp he leaped vertically into a tree and wrapped himself round a low branch, shivering violently, his eyes fixed on the Haunted Box. Slowly, the lid opened... 

Scrappy poked his head out of his travelling quarters. He was dead tired, sick from the motion of the train and shaken by his rough journey onto the platform. But here he was at last, and his uncle should be waiting for him. 

"Uncle Scooby?" He looked all around for a sign of the brown Dane whose photo hung in the Doo living-room. Where was that bold, heroic dog, his uncle?" Finally his gaze travelled upwards and he spotted Scooby clinging to his branch. His expression brightened and his small tail wagged frantically. He didn't know what his uncle was doing up a tree - something frightfully clever, he guessed, like looking for clues. He drew himself up to his full height and called up to Scooby: 

"Hi! I'm Scrappy Doo!" 

Scooby blinked at the ridiculously small puppy who had given him such an awful fright. Scrappy? His brother's son? He felt annoyed that he had been made a fool of by his tiny nephew, and prepared to scold him. Then he looked at Scrappy's face. The puppy's expression was pure hero-worship. Clearly he didn't think his uncle was a fool at all. 

Scooby loved his friends, Fred, Daphne, Velma and especially Shaggy. But he realised that they thought of him as a loveable buffoon, a cowardly, greedy mutt who had to be bribed into doing his bit for the team. Nobody had ever looked up to him the way his nephew clearly did. He had never experienced respect. 

Scooby looked down at the puppy on the platform and smiled, then broke into giggles. 

"Rappy Roo? Ehehehehehe!" 

And the adventures began. 


End file.
